Juan, Don Juan 007
by bobmcbobbob1
Summary: Sneaking around in evening wear and avoiding the detection of the guards with catlike grace and stealth, our hero...wait...is it Bond or Erik? Well...yes, actually. Erik's quest for vengence with a James Bond twist. Odd, yes. Interesting, I hope.
1. Prologue and Opening Credits

Hi there! Got a fresh new idea here...it's going to be an interesting ride, let me tell you. James Bond and Phantom of the Opera, who would think to mesh them? Me, apparently. -:shrug:- I mean, Erik knows how to sneak around and trip people up...

Anyway, let's just dive right in. I don't own Phantom, Bond, or the rights to the song "Too Much Love will Kill You" (props to Leroux, Fleming, and Queen).

* * *

Juan, Don Juan…007

All eyes watch from the barrel of a gun to the blank white on the other side. Footsteps echo in the emptiness and the barrel follows a man dressed in black, his cape flowing gently behind him. Suddenly, as though he know he's being watched, he whips around and expertly tosses a lasso. The barrel of the gun shifts with the assailant's attempts to free himself but the last thing he sees before his vision clouds over in red is that the other half of the man's face is covered with a white mask.

_(Fade out)_

Scene opens in small room. A man with a black mask rises from his chair in front of the mirror and flutters his cape in the semblance of arrogance, in accordance with his character. Adjusting his ensemble one last time, he smiles self-assuredly at his reflection and shuts the door behind him, well knowing that his cue is still a few minutes away. He hums to himself, warming up his vocal chords and reviewing his lines.

PIANGI: _You have come here in pursuit of_…blast what is it again? (_Hastily yanks libretto from his rather large pocket_) "Your deepest urge?" If this hadn't been written by the ghost, I might have Carlotta demand it changed.

There's a strange sound from somewhere in the catwalk (that sounds like someone muttering "You wouldn't know art if you it bit you on your…damn, he can hear me") and he raises his head. Suddenly, a man leaps down and renders the other unconscious after a valiant yet pathetic struggle from PIANGI.

ERIK: I believe your services won't be necessary tonight, sir.

With a small smirk, the man rises and moves toward the entrance to the stage, leaving the other tied and stowed away in the half-open closet. Adjusting his mask to insure proper coverage, he walked out on stage with his head held high and the music swelling on nearly discordant melodies.

ERIK: (_Whispered_) On with the show…

(_Scene switches along with Dramatic Music!_)

DRAMATIC MUSIC PLAYS

Bright colors flash across the screen while the Don Juan Dancers alternate between flirtatious silhouettes and moving billboards. The first reads "Based on work Gaston Leroux to whom much credit is due and also with influences by the work of Ian Fleming." The words fade and shadows of masquerade dancers project on the bodies of the Don Juan Dancers. More words appear: "A May-They-Not-Sue-Me Production, A Bobmcbobbob1 Fic." The words shimmer away and the silhouettes return, swimming against a blue background that shifts smoothly to green then purple. "Juan, Don Juan: Too Much Love will Kill You."

VOICE: "I'm just the pieces of the man I used to be

Too many bitter tears are raining down on me

I'm far away from home

And I've been facing this alone for much too long

I feel like no-one ever told the truth to me

About growing up and what a struggle it would be

In my tangled state of mind

I've been looking back to find where I went wrong."

Another flash of words appear on screen: "Opening Song 'Too Much Love will Kill You' by Queen, used without permission." More silhouetted Don Juan Dancers wave their arms in front of the screen and the words ripple away against a yellowish background.

VOICE: "Too Much Love Will Kill You

if you can't make up your mind."

In the midst of this particular part of the song sequence, one woman is present against a red background, her features obscured by lighting but her revealing peasants outfit is relatively clear in the red lighting as she focuses on sorting through her basket of roses.

VOICE: "Torn between the lover and the love you leave behind

You're headed for disaster 'cause you never read the signs

Too Much Love Will Kill You - every time."

The Don Juan Dancers shimmy across the screen while the credits continue to fade in and out, sometimes projected onto various limbs and sometimes to the side of the dancers.

Camera focuses on the silhouette of a man, working tirelessly at the organ with occasional glimpses of white from his mask.

VOICE: "I'm just the shadow of the man I used to be

And it seems like there's no way out of this for me

I used to bring you sunshine

Now all I ever do is bring you down."

Focus is again brought to the same woman as before (credits are still passing by…just trust me) only now the lines of a stained glass window are visible as well. She kneels, shadowed in a green light.

VOICE: "How would it be if you were standing in my shoes

Can't you see that it's impossible to choose

No there's no making sense of it

Every way I go I have to lose."

Focus shifts again to a man in shadows; obviously upset, he's yelling something (though muted) and pounds his fist on a desk before chucking it across the room. Attention shifts back to the Don Juan Dancers performing such moves as the Lawn Mower, the Sprinkler, the Grocery Cart…

VOICE: "Too Much Love Will Kill You

just as sure as none at all,

It'll drain the power that's in you

Make you plead and scream and crawl

And the pain will make you crazy

You're the victim of your crime

Too Much Love Will Kill You - every time."

Don Juan Dancers are doing the Macarena, as they seem to be running out of things to do while some of the others have received paid endorsements to work as living billboards.

VOICE: "Too Much Love Will Kill You

It'll make your life a lie

Yes, Too Much Love Will Kill You

And you won't understand why

You'd give your life you'd sell your soul

But here it comes again

Too Much Love Will Kill You

In the end...

In the end."

The Music dies down and the screen fades to black.

(_Aside_) AUTHORESS: Alright, here's the scoop. Mostly set in Phantom of the Opera time period with many elements (and probably _several_ liberties) from the James Bond, what I call, Golden Years, meaning during the Cold War when the Russian conspiracy stuff made more sense.

Cast likenesses are as follows:

Erik: James Bond

Madame Giry: M

Meg: Miss Moneypenny

Buquet: Q

Christine: Bond Girl

Raoul: Christine's Mobster Boyfriend

Carlotta: Evil Seductress (:snort:)

Piangi: Annoying Bad Guy

Philippe: Felix (there will be an explanation for this)

The Persian: Shady Casino Owner

Andre and Firmin: Crappy but somehow Unbeatable Henchmen

Sorelli: Girl in Beginning who Dies

Other characters will be noted when they come more into play.

All in all, it's going to be one heck of a ride. Strap on your jetpacks. And as always, **_love it or hate it, please let me know!_**


	2. Debriefing

Wow! Response is cool! Thank you to those who have reviewed thus far. For those faithful to "Once Bitten," I confess that I'm terribly stuck at the moment but will knuckle down on my muse as soon as possible (though she'll resent me for it later). Also on that note, Philippe here won't be quite as snarky as the vampire version though I imagine he will venture more toward sarcastic later in this fic...just not right now.

As for this one, I forgot to mention a couple of things: It's mostly movie with a bunch of book details thrown in (such as Sorelli's existence, Philippe's existence, the Siren, etc.). Also, the ERIK here is much more Erik than James Bond in appearance (though Serard Contler is very fun, Mominator!), veering toward Mister Butler with a more graphic deformity because James Bond/Erik still has to be a ladies man on some level if it's going to be anywhere close in the midst of this craziness (really though, he's mix that I only see in my head). Also, I'll be leaning toward more of the older James Bond; Sean Connery and Roger Moore were freakin' awesome. Yeah, that's all I can think of for the moment.

For this chapter though, M GIRY is an abbreviation used for Madame Giry, not to change her gender but to emphasize her James Bond likeness...after I quickly realized that I was tired of typing it again and again, even just a couple into it. ;)

Alrighty, enough of me. Let's jump in to the beginning.

* * *

Scene opens on the shores of the underground lake. ERIK can hear voices on the other side as he steers the gondola closer to shore. Still yet to round the bend, he stops and listens to the conversation

SORELLI: Philippe, my love, it has only been you!

PHILIPPE: And all these flowers? What of them?

SORELLI: Just admirers of my art, dearest.

PHILIPPE: What about the love letters?

SORELLI: Er….

PHILIPPE: Fernand? Pierre? Jean-Luc? And who the hell is Rico Suavé? And someone named Dennis?

SORELLI: Well, when you're in the spotlight, you're bound to have a few fans…

PHILIPPE: Let's look at this one, shall we? _(The sound of rustling paper as Philippe pulls out a letter) _"My Dearest Sorelli, I'll never forget the nights we spent together in heat and—"

SORELLI: Alright! That's enough.

_(ERIK checks his watch and chooses to move from his hiding space; as entertaining as this could be, he recalls that he does have a pressing appointment. The squabbling couple snap their mouths shut hastily when they realize they are not alone. ERIK comes into view and both are visibly relieved.)_

PHILIPPE: Oh, it's only you. I'm visibly relieved.

SORELLI: _(Flutters eyelashes and smiles coyly)_ As am I. So good to see you again, Erik.

PHILIPPE: (_Rounds on her, his voice tainted with agitation_) What? Him too?

ERIK: (_Shrugs_) It's something about the voice.

PHILIPPE: I see. All the same…(_sighs in defeat_).

_(Unseen by the trio, a shadow lingers on the wall in a silhouette not belonging to any Don Juan Dancer. ERIK'S boat scrapes the shore of the lake and he leaps out. He is just about to make some witty remark when he spots the shadow and shouts out.)_

ERIK: Get down!

_(PHILIPPE immediately follows orders but SORELLI takes a moment to look around stupidly and a shot echoes in the caverns. ERIK expertly tosses a dagger and the assailant cries out in surprise and pain though he still manages to escape with no convincing evidence (after a quick sweep of the area) of his identity or why he didn't seem to lose much blood.)_

PHILIPPE: (_Over SORELLI'S dying body_) I didn't even get a chance to ask her about the fur coats. Goodbye, my little Opera Dancer. (_SORELLI dies and a lone tear carves a path down PHILIPPE'S cheek._)

ERIK: Don't grieve too much. She was one of them.

PHILIPPE: One of who?

ERIK: I don't know; I was trying to make you feel better. See that ring though? It could be a symbol of some cult. All the bad guys like to wear their symbol somewhere.

PHILIPPE: I bought her that ring.

ERIK: …

PHILIPPE: (_Smiling_) I understand, you were making a joke.

_(He slaps ERIK'S back and ERIK laughs half-heartedly and altogether unconvincingly…though PHILIPPE doesn't seem to notice.)_

PHILIPPE: Ever since you saved my life—

ERIK: Yeah, about that…

PHILIPPE: I mean, if you hadn't been there, I'm sure that the Siren of this lake would have pulled me under!

ERIK: (_Runs a hand through his hair and attempts not to make eye contact)_ Well…

PHILIPPE: Enough of your modesty! Just know that anything you want, I'm your man. You've given me a whole new outlook on life and I'm going to work to return the favor. If you need some comic relief, just call me over…

_(ERIK sighs and quickly looses PHILIPPE in the tunnels while he's still rattling on about his gratitude…frankly because he doesn't know what to do with it; PHILIPPE just happened to regain consciousness at the wrong time and make his own conclusions. ERIK still believed that PHILIPPE could prove useful yet...somehow.)_

New scene opens with MADAME GIRY behind a desk. PDJD (post Don Juan Debacle), she is shuffling through sheets of paper on her desk. Some are old letters with obvious red ink in a scrawled handwriting, bits that are legible from the camera's distance include "Give me my money, damnit," and "Get rid of the cow and cast someone who can _actually_ sing…such as, just a thought, MY WONDERFUL CHRISTINE," and "Don't make me come out there." She sighs and shuffles those letters away in a drawer. There's a knock on the door.

MEG: Maman? There's someone here to see you.

MADAME GIRY: _(rubs her temples, knowing the impending headache to come after the interview)_ Let him in.

MEG: _(Voice muffled through the door)_ You may go in now.

_(ERIK walks into the room and sits down in a chair in front of the desk without a word, looking somewhat sullen. M GIRY continues to shuffle through random papers and soon ERIK grows tired of being ignored.)_

ERIK: Why?

M GIRY: Why what?

ERIK: What's the crisis? Why am I here?

M GIRY: Well, to be quite frank, the world is at stake.

_(ERIK appears disinterested, cleaning out something from underneath his fingernails.)_

M GIRY: _(Sighs and continues)_ Alright, so perhaps not the entire world but the Operatic World is in serious jeopardy.

ERIK: _(still seems disinterested, expressing his opinion with a yawn before commenting)_ They've sloughed my opinions before, Madame. Perhaps once all those cretins have destroyed themselves, the art and music will live again. Let them fight.

M GIRY: This is much more than a few squabbles. Truly, if something is not done, they'll turn Opera into a circus.

ERIK: Like I said, let them fight it out until they destroy the world and I'll be there to rebuild after the radiation from nuclear war dies out…

M GIRY: You don't understand. Warping art into a commercial business, starring folks worse than Carlotta that are all looks and no substance. They'll turn Arias into Pop Ballads!

ERIK: (_Freezes momentarily_ _then relaxes slightly, picking up a pen from the desk)_ Still, not my problem.

M GIRY: Don't touch that pen! You don't know what it's capable of!

_(The pen in question begins to click faster and faster, ERIK holds on to it with a raised eyebrow…though no one can see it under the mask. The clicks continue to gain speed and volume while M GIRY folds herself into the 'Duck-and-Cover' position. Suddenly the pen bleeps and SPLUT!)_

ERIK: (_Glances at shirt in disgust)_ You could have told me it was going to spray ink everywhere.

M GIRY: It's a pen, what did you expect? I'll send this back down to Q to have them fix this up. Someday, the disposable pen will be available to the public.

ERIK: (_Watches M Giry again, mildly tweaked about the stain on his once immaculate clothes)_ You were saying..? In a vain attempt to sway me to action?

M GIRY: They're going to start with your opera.

ERIK: THOSE FIENDS! (_Now understanding the danger of the vague situation, Erik rises from his chair and paces slowly)_. I'll string them up from the chandelier…once it's back in place, that is. What do we know about them?

M GIRY: (_sighs)_ Unfortunately not much. These are a couple of underlings. All the same, your best hope is to go undercover. We need as much information as you can gather then the best hope is to reclaim all the stolen works.

_(M GIRY hands Erik a pair of sketches and he observes them with a careful eye)_

ERIK: Andre and Firmin?

M GIRY: The very same.

ERIK: These two are the threat against the musical world?

M GIRY: Well, for all your complaining about their mis-management of this opera house…

ERIK: _(Waves her off_) Yes, yes, I'm well aware that they're fully capable annoyances but you're talking about some real musical knowledge and a malevolence that doesn't entirely make sense…unless money is involved.

M GIRY: One of them does have some musical knowledge but they're not the head of this operation. Our sources suspect that this man _(Hands ERIK another sketch_) has something to do with the matter.

_(The sketch reveals a man in an astrakhan cap and ERIK again recognizes the figure, known often as THE PERSIAN.)_

ERIK: (_Incredulous)_ Him?

M GIRY: His actions have always been most suspicious. And, his casino is suddenly doing quite well.

ERIK: I don't suppose that you believe it's just nobles trying to rid themselves of their money before the Commune rises to take it away?

M GIRY: Not hardly.

ERIK: I've got a question. How do _you_ know all this?

M GIRY: (_Mildly taken aback by the question but resumes a thoughtful look_) I just seem to know everything. I'm the one who always knows what's going on around here. Come to think of it, I'm not entirely sure who some of my sources are.

ERIK: (_Grumbling_) Well, that's encouraging.

M GIRY: Unfortunately, they failed to find everything this time. Q will see that you have some of the proper equipment. I will expect you to check in as soon as you hear anything.

ERIK: And as always, I'll blame my late reports on the messenger boy. (_With mock reverence_) Will that be all?

M GIRY: Unless you have any questions.

ERIK: (_Thinks for a moment)_ Actually, I do. Won't going undercover be difficult considering that a white mask is quite a distinguishing characteristic?

M GIRY: If a man can be a secret agent when everyone seems to know his name, I don't see why not.

_(The camera follows ERIK out of the room and he closes the door to M GIRY'S office, while she nurses a headache. He walks over to the secretary's desk.)_

ERIK: Dangerous mission, you know.

MEG: Isn't it always dangerous? _(smirks)_ But you live in danger, don't you, sir?

ERIK: Yes, I do. But if I don't make it back from this mission, don't you want to get any E/M thoughts off your mind?

MEG: _(Whispering urgently to ERIK)_ James Bond never actually fooled with Miss Moneypenny…and this time I'm the boss's daughter. Just keep that in mind in the midst of this flirtatious banter and before you get too many ideas.

ERIK: …

(_ERIK ends up making some witty innuendo as he grabs his cape from the stand and flutters it gently on his shoulders as he stalks away)_

MEG: Wait! (_Jumps up from behind the desk and makes her way over to the hat rack while ERIK stops and turns around)_ Wouldn't want to forget this, now would you?

_(MEG holds out ERIK'S hat which he accepts with a small smile.)_

MEG: There's something I've always been meaning to ask you. How do you always manage to toss your hat and catch it on a hook every time?

ERIK: (_Still with a small smile_) Well, you see it's all in the wrist.

(_ERIK stands behind MEG and positions her)_

ERIK: Now, just envision that you're holding a lasso and toss it around the neck of some piece of scum just like…(_he moves her hand with and with a flick of her wrist, the hat lands gently on a peg)_ that! You see, you've got it.

(_MEG smiles and a voice is heard through the door.)_

M GIRY: Erik, I would appreciate it if you would let my secretary get back to work. Meg!

_(Both MEG and ERIK shake their heads)_

ERIK: I see duty calls though I never knew it to have such a voice. (_In mock sincerity) _If I die on this mission, remember that it was only you.

MEG: _(Rolls eyes)_ Sure. Like I really believe that. Go on to your new exotic location.

_(ERIK inclines his head and closes the door behind him)

* * *

_

AUTHORESS: There we go. I think I rambled enough in the beginning so I'll be brief here. **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_**


	3. buQuet

THE AUTHORESS: I'm back at school and looking forward to a new year. Many thanks to everyone who's reviewed thus far. I apologize for the irregularity of updating but that's how it's going to be for a while (what with school starting up again, especially). For those that follow "Once Bitten" there's one chapter left and it's giving me plenty of trouble. I started a new Labyrinth fic that's been sapping up my creative juices lately. Anyway, away from that, thanks again! and here we go. Hope everyone had a fantastic summer.

Scene shifts down to a rustic lab. Various bits of plaster, metal, wood shavings and every which and what are scattered about. ERIK enters in through a secret door that moments before had blended seamlessly against the wall. A man is working on what looks like a set of opera glasses and is quite absorbed. ERIK smirks to himself and crouches down, preparing to sneak up on man still fascinated in his current project. Just before he lunges out, the man speaks up

BUQUET: You know, this scare-the-crap-out-of-everyone act is really old. I'd thought you'd have moved on with something more inventive by now.

_(ERIK drops his arms to his sides, partially resigned in remembering that buQeut has never shown him much respect.)_

ERIK: Tell me again how I failed to kill you?

buQuet: How many times do I have to tell you, it was just another project I was working on. If it makes you feel better, I'll just start saying it was my stunt double. That and the authoress has just seen it fit that I don't die as of yet. Or better yet, I'll just start telling everyone that you're getting soft.

(_Erik glowers but buQuet ignores it, instead leafing through various knickknacks)_

ERIK: So what is this you're working on?

buQuet: Changing the subject because you know you've lost? Well, I suppose it's better than the whole "choose me or I kill your lover and/or half the city" tactic of dealing with defeat.

ERIK: (_Blanches slightly)_ What have you heard?

buQuet: Oh, come now. I've got to keep tabs on you to make sure you don't blow up something too important. But if you must know (_gestures to pair of opera glasses)_ this is a project of special interest to me. See, you just look through these lenses (_indicates then hands them over to Erik)_ and you'll see—

ERIK: The ballet changing room?

buQuet: _(Low, lewd chuckle)_ But of course. Is that Sorelli in there again?

ERIK: I doubt it.

buQuet: Something makes you so sure? (_Comes to his own conclusion and raises his head in suspicion_) If it involves you I probably don't want to know about it.

ERIK: (_Already irritated and eager to leave as soon as possible, finding this whole human contact thing can be often more trouble than it's worth_) So what have you got for me?

buQuet: As usual, something you'll need just at the right moment and probably won't make it back in one piece; I've been sensing a trend in that vein.

ERIK: Well?

buQuet: (_Sighs, wondering vaguely how some of his most prized ideas end up in the hands of such as these_) I always said I could put my inventions to much better use.

ERIK: Like what, might I ask?

buQuet: (_Doesn't say anything, being far too busy contemplating the possibilities as a slow, sly smile spreads across his face_. _ERIK raises an eyebrow and shakes his head with a sigh_ _while buQuet snaps out of his reverie with a sarcastic drawl_) Oh no, you're the "specially trained operative," not me. Far be it for me to impede upon your amazing skills.

ERIK: Just give me the damn equipment so I can be on my way.

buQuet: (_Sighs, partly saddened that his fun is ruined_) Well, here's this. (_buQuet hands ERIK a cylindrical tube_) Take a look.

(_ERIK_ _Takes a look and presses down on the top. It whirs for a moment before clicking faster and faster until—_)

PEN: Splut!

ERIK: (_Wipes hastily at the second smear on his shirt, the ink already too set in to fix without much more drastic measures. ERIK is not exactly amused_) Yes, I've seen that one before, thank you very much.

buQuet: Didn't learn much then, did you? (_Chuckles_) Yeah, I don't think that will get old any time soon.

ERIK: (_Runs a hand down the side of his face that shows, grumbling_) Lovely.

buQuet: (_Shrugs_) You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.

ERIK: Well, yes, but that sort of danger I was used to. Running for my life, avoiding discovery…not usually concerned with attacks on my wardrobe.

buQuet: Considering on how you normally dress, I find that doubtful. You sound just like—

ERIK: If you're about to say either "Raoul" or "a fop," you'd better give me a rope and pray to your maker or run like hell.

buQuet: (_Wisely reconsiders what he was about to say and ultimately doesn't say it_) All the same, if you're reconsidering the job…

ERIK: No, but I'd still rather get this interview over and done with. (_His aggravation is clear_)

buQuet: Alright, alright. Stay close and don't break anything. (_Slaps ERIK's wrist and meets ERIK's confused and angry glare_) That was a preemptive measure.

ERIK: (_Sighs_, _pretty sure that it's not worth the trouble to kill him before this scene is done with anyway_)Just get on with it.

buQuet: (_Starts walking away with ERIK behind him_) Here is the first of your tools.

ERIK: (_Holds up the rope he's just been handed, not exactly impressed_) It's a rope.

buQuet: Very good, I'm glad that the vision tests are still company policy. Give the thing a good stretch before you judge it. (_ERIK obliges_)

ROPE: -:Stretches and Twangs:-

ERIK: The fibers have more give to them.

buQuet: But it's still plenty strong, stronger actually.

ERIK: It might be hard to hang someone if it stretches far enough for their feet to reach the ground. Or trying to break their necks without that strong leverage. I'll stick with my own guns, thanks.

buQuet: Take it anyway, 007. I'll stuff it in your suitcase if I have to.

ERIK: Fine, what else have you?

buQuet: (_Sullen_) I don't feel like explaining anything else to you while you undermine all my achievements.

(_ERIK spends the next few minutes trying to get buQuet to cooperate though he'd much rather kill the man and find an instruction manual or force an intelligent assistant to help him, seeing as there are several walking around pretending to look busy. Finally, buQuet agrees to continue_.)

buQuet: Fine, fine. Take a look at this.

(_buQuet gestures to an unfortunate crash test watermelon behind soundproof glass. One of the technicians gives a thumbs up while another flicks a switch. The watermelon promptly explodes, spewing guts and seeds along the walls._)

buQuet: Concentrated Carlotta shrills put to good use. Very effective.

ERIK: (_Gestures to mannequin against the wall_) What's that little dummy of me for?

buQuet: That? Oh, it's for several different functions from fittings to some practical testing. Personally, I use it for stress relief. (_buQuet is of course referring to the signs and darts jutting out of it_.)

ERIK: Could you make me a different mask?

buQuet: You mean one that would make you look like a human being? …No. It would throw too many people off. That's why we can't do different colors either.

ERIK: (_Sarcastically mumbles_) Perfectly rational.

buQuet: I don't see how it matters, as long as your face is covered for the rest of us.

(_ERIK shoots buQuet a murderous glare, with good reason. However he wisely refrains from reaching over and snapping his neck until the man has at least given him something cool to do so with._)

buQuet: (_Doesn't seem to notice, or possible care, ERIK's contempt and tosses him a large black cube with all sorts of knickknacks jutting out. ERIK catches it and begins to look it over.)_ Here. This is our greatest invention and—

(_The item in question promptly falls apart)_

buQuet: —and you broke it already. (_sighs)_

ERIK: (_coldly)_ Faulty equipment.

buQuet: (_Brushes aside ERIK's comment_) Here's another one. Be careful this time.

_(Places the next gently in ERIK's hands, already leering at him anxiously)_.

buQuet: This is our wonder box, we call it the Complete Score, guaranteed to have the right tool for the job. Press that compartment on the side.

(_ERIK obliges and it promptly fires out a dart that sticks directly in the Erik mannequin)_

buQuet: Wonderful but that's not what was supposed to happen. Turn it over.

ERIK: The sides all look the same.

buQuet: Nonsense.

(_buQuet snatches it out of his hands, pressing random compartments. ERIK wisely ducks in cover. THE AUTHORESS follows suite and therefore cannot accurately describe what happened but only the sounds with buQuet's many swears omitted: The clanging of a hammer, the splut of some liquid that was likely a corrosive acid judging by the hissing that soon followed, a shrill whistle, the clump of some large mass the evidently fell on buQuet's toes, the loud piff of some sort of safety raft that jutted over the counter knocking down all sorts of everything, the squawk of an indignant parrot, whirring of some sort of modern power tool, the roar of flames, and all of this ultimately followed with a loud smash as buQuet chucks the Complete Score down on the floor. THE AUTHORESS arises from her crouch as ERIK survey's the carnage. buQuet continues to stomp on the remains, having run out of swear words, he resorts to childish name-calling. ERIK watches with an insouciant half-grin. buQuet finally calms himself down and takes a deep breath, shoving his hair back in place.)_

ERIK: Are you done?

buQuet: (_Raises an eyebrow but decides to ignore the comment)_ We only made three of those so forget it. Here.

(_buQuet chucks a bag at ERIK_)

buQuet: Here's just a bag of random tools that I'm sure will somehow come in handy later. Figure them out for yourself. I need to hire a new staff, it seems.

(_ERIK is eager to leave and turns away, plotting the man's death once this matter is taken care of. He leaves the room, bits smoldering and buQuet shaking his head over his injured assistants and murmuring about their lack of work ethic_)

THE AUTHORESS: **_Love it or hate it, please let me know!_** I actually don't have anything much else to say...I know, surprising for me.


End file.
